Stickchaser Chronicles: Battle for Mission City
by CasusFere
Summary: The Allspark energy washes over the streets. The dust settles. Now, the real battle for Mission City begins... Two words: Microchipped. Dogs.
1. Part One

A/N - Two words. Microchipped. Dogs.

I can't believe I wrote this... I'm going to go hide under a rock now. I blame the evil plot bunnies!

x-xxx-x

Sniff… sniff sniff…_ People! Oo… Pee!_

Life was simple in the beginning. He had a house, and a family who threw balls for him to chase. Sometimes there were leftovers, and sometimes he went to the kennel. Sometimes the neighbor cat came over and tried to eat his food, and he got to chase it and bark.

But then everything changed.

Loud noises the person hadn't let him go see – then a wash of… _Something_. He didn't have a word for It then.

It started small, a tingling in his shoulders. Then his leg felt stiff – everything moved right, it just felt… off. It crept up his neck, and down his back, and suddenly, he was Different.

He had lots of words now. And a new name.

He was _Stickchaser_.

Stickchaser didn't have a person now. The one who he'd been walking had run away in the confusion. He still had a family, of course, but he couldn't go home yet.

But he hadn't been the only dog on the street that day, and some of the others were bad dogs.

"Hungry," said one of the others, another good dog like him.

"You're always hungry, Rambler!" snapped Sashay, shaking long silky ears.

"'M a big dog! I need to eat!" The Rottweiler loomed over the others. Stickchaser had gathered them together in the days after It happened, the good dogs that were Different, like him. They were the ones trying to protect the humans, like they'd been taught.

"I'm hungry, too!" yowled Swish from his perch on Rambler's back.

"You're a cat. Eat a mouse," Sashay huffed.

"I'm a dog!"

"Are not!"

"Prove it!"

"Let's go hit up Joe's," suggested Stickchaser, stepping in. "I think it's the fat one's night to cook."

"Oh, he has the best garbage!" Rambler bounced, almost loosing the cat in the process.

"Ew, gross! Do you have to say 'garbage?'"

"I could call it steak, but it'd still be garbage."

Sashay gave him an exasperated look. "Table scraps."

"Garrrrrbage." The bickering continued all the way to the back alley behind Joe's place.

Stickchaser took advantage of his fluffy ears and his breed's lovable reputation, sticking his head through the partially open door and whining.

"Hey, Mike! You're dog's here!"

"Which one?"

"The Goldie! Aw, you're a cute one, ain'tcha?" The young kitchen worker gave Stickchaser a pat on the head. A few minutes later, and he delivered the bowl of scraps the cook had been collecting all night just in case one of his furry friends showed up for dinner.

"Alright, who ordered the chicken skin with a side of burnt sauce?" he asked jokingly.

"Oh, that was me!" Rambler bounced. The four of them always thought it was kind of strange how the humans couldn't understand them when they could understand the humans just fine. Swish claimed that it was all radios in their heads, something the others thought was ridiculous, and dismissed it as feline fancy. Everyone knew that radios were those things that played what humans called music and dogs called wailing, so of course they'd _know_ if there were radios in their heads.

Stickchaser gave the human a lick and a grin, all four of them settling in for a meal. Swish sat between Rambler's paws, daintily pulling chunks of chicken out of the bowl as the big dog wolfed the food down.

A minute later, and Rambler was licking the empty bowl. "I'm still hungry."

Sashay sighed.

"Come on, we need to get going. We're late for patrol, anyway." Stickchaser nudged the bigger dog away from the bowl. "We still don't know what Steelsnap and the others are up too… they've been too quiet lately."

"I'm coming, I'm coming…" Rambler followed the Saluki and the Retriever out of the alley with a sigh, Swish trotting under his belly.

"Ugh, I want a bath. And a brushing," Sashay muttered, flicking mud off a paw. "See, this is why dogs have people."

"How're you plannin' to explain all the metal under your fur?" Rambler asked in amusement.

"I'm here, aren't I?" she shot back. "I don't think my Family is ready for that, yet. But when we're done, and the Bad Dogs are gone, I'm going to go home and explain everything. And get brushed everyday, and my claws trimmed, and premium food in my bowl…" she continued dreamily.

"I don't like baths."

"Well, you're a barbarian."

Stickchaser's ears perked. "Shhh… I hear something." Two more sets of ears lifted. Swish jumped back up on Rambler, tufted ears and antenna swiveling.

"I hear snarling… do you think it's them?" Swish whispered, tail flicking in agitation.

"One way to find out." Stickchaser loped towards the sounds, the others right behind. They skidded around a corner to find exactly what they were afraid of.

The Doberman, Bloodslick, and her partner-in-crime, a German Shepard called Striker, had cornered a young human woman who was pressed up against the alley wall, clutching her purse.

"B-bad d-dogs, go home…"

"Yeah, bad dog, that's right. We're baaaaaad dogs. Gonna eaaaaaatcha." Striker let out a sadistic sort of snicker, inching closer.

Stickchaser had seen enough. "Back OFF!" He barked for the human's benefit.

"Or what, fuzzy?" Striker laughed.

"Or we're going to take steps," Rambler growled, "Big ones that involve biting your nose off, and shoving it somewhere uncomfortable." Swish yowled for good measure.

"It's not worth it, Striker. We'll have another chance," Bloodslick told her partner. She glared hatefully at the other dogs. "Someday, Steelsnap's going to get tired of you sticking up for these… things… that try to call themselves our masters." She stepped forward, looking down at the retriever. "And then I'm going to enjoy ripping you apart. Come on, Striker." She turned and trotted away, Striker giving one last growl before following.  



	2. Part Two

A/N- No, I haven't forgot about the cybernetic doggies, I've just... actually, I have no excuse. Anyway, chapter two, in which a plot begins to develop!

x-xxx-x

"Well?" The demand came from the darkness as Striker and Bloodslick ducked into the abandoned tenement.

Striker looked up at the balefully glowing red eyes. "I - well, that is-"

"We ran into Rover and his lapdogs," Bloodslick growled, shouldering Striker aside.

"I don't see why we can't just kill him," Striker whined.

"Yeah! I'll do it! I'll rip out his throat-" Haywire growled, almost dancing with eagerness

"Yeah, right after we find you a ladder." Steelsnap knocked the little Chihuahua aside with a casual swipe of a paw. The Bullmastiff turned his attention back to the rest of his pack. "You won't so much as drool on them, Striker, until I say so." He loomed over the smaller dog. "Is that absolutely clear?"

Striker drooped to his belly cringing.

Steelsnap glared at him a moment longer, then turned away. "The self-righteous human-loving idiots may prove useful, even necessary. We still do not know how we came to be Different, or how many of us there are."

"Or," came another voice from the shadows, "How we can make more. Our numbers are too few to take on the humans of this city, much less all of them." A second Bullmastiff paced forward, coming to stand next her mate. Lockjaw glared around at the others. "Get back to work. We don't have time for this useless whining."

x-x-x

"Don't see nothin', Fluffy-Boss-Man. Dog. Whatever," Swish chirped, riding up on Rambler.

"No clue what they wanted," The Rottweiler added.

"They're up to something, I know it," Stickchaser muttered. "Come on, we'll meet up with Sashay and see if she's found anything."

Finding the Saluki proved easy; they just followed the sound of furious barking.

"It's another one of us," Swish told them, antenna swiveling. Stickchaser nodded. As they drew closer, he could make out the words under the snarling.

"If you don't get your fluffy little prissy tail _off my sidewalk_, I'm going to come over this fence and _eat_ you!"

"Calm down," Sashay called, backing up. "I just want to talk!"

"Go yap somewhere else, you walking dishrag!"

"Dishrag? Well, I never!"

Stickchaser trotted around the corner and stopped short, Rambler plowing into his backside.

"Sorry," Rambler muttered.

Stickchaser just stared. Across the street, Sashay was snarling through a fence at the biggest dog he'd ever seen. Sharp metal flashed as she snapped at Sashay, thick fur bristling. Stickchaser shook himself and trotted to the rescue. "Easy!" He bounded up to the fence, wagging his tail. "We just wanna talk!"

The massive dog's glare flicked to him. "Bug off, hairball. I'm not interested."

"Oo, _big_ fuzzy," Swish commented as Rambler jogged up. "Yo, Big Fuzzy! What's shakin'?"

"You, if you don't go away. And the _name_ is Leviathan. _Leviathan_, you mangy excuse for a cat," she growled back.

"Hey, can't we be friends?" Stickchaser tried again, sidling closer.

Leviathan snarled and lunged against the fence, sending the other dogs scrambling back.

Stickchaser watched the fence bed under the mastiff's weight and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. "We'll just leave you to your yard, huh?" He backed up. "Come on, let's get out of here." The three dogs fled, cat hanging on for the ride.

Leviathan gave one last parting snap in their direction. "Upstart little yapping furballs," she growled to herself, making her way back to the porch. "Tryin' to come in my yard." She gave a quick glance around then flopped at the top of the steps. She rested her head on her paws and watched the cars pass by. Slowly her eyes drifted closed. Maybe when she woke up, her owner would be back and everything would just go back to normal...

x-x-x

_"If there was some sort of alien... infestation..."_

_"The government would be the first to let us know."_

_"That was the statement last month from Ron and Judy Witwicky, from their home in Tranquility, __California__. They're the parents of Sam Witwicky, who was lauded as a hero in the disaster in __Mission City__ that took almost two hundred lives and wounded many more. However, recent investigation has cast doubt on the statements made by young Sam and his family as to what actually occurred that day. Some independent sources have uncovered evidence of a broad-scale government cover-up..."_

"They were lying," Bloodslick commented, watching the screen through the shop window.

Striker perked his ears and squinted at the screen. "How can you tell? It's not like we can smell them from here," he pointed out reasonably.

"I just can!" she snapped, glaring.

"Okay, okay, you don't have to be so _nasty_ about it," Striker whined.

Bloodslick snorted, turning her attention back to the screen. "They obviously know something. They may even have a clue as to what changed us. Steelsnap has to know about this!"

x-x-x

_Meanwhile, elsewhere…_

"Unusual energy signatures?" Keller frowned over the video connection. "What sort of 'unusual energy signatures?'"

"We're not sure yet. We swept the area after the battle in Mission City to make sure we had located everything accidentally created by the Allspark. However, when we performed a routine scan today, there were several anomalies in the Mission City area. We can't know more until we investigate."

On screen, Keller nodded. "Alright, but be careful. We can't risk an incident at this juncture, Prime."

"Understood. We'll keep you posted. Optimus Prime out."


End file.
